


Silken Whispers

by farfallanotte



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drunk Dwarves, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, No Plot/Plotless, Prompt Fic, Tieflings, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfallanotte/pseuds/farfallanotte
Summary: A collection of writing prompts, vignettes, fluff, and odds and ends for Nisrah Nyrel: a tiefling half-fiend daughter of an incubus, and devotee to The Silken Sin, Socothbenoth. Rating and tags constantly evolving.





	1. Vignette Prompt: Promises

**Prompt:**  
When did your character last break a promise?

Nisrah licked her lips as she flicked her clothing off the ground with her long whip-like tail. As she slipped back into her leathers and tunic, she bore a last contemptuous look at the softly snoring man atop the plush duvet. How weak these humans were; a life of comfort and mundane pleasures had bespoiled their usefulness in her quiet worship of The Silken Sin.

But even so, she smiled furtively to herself. Oh, the things men would say! Secrets had an immense attraction to her, because she had no intention to keep them and she enjoyed the unhallowed thrill she experienced when they tumbled from her lips after having faithfully promised to keep silent.

She stretched her limbs languidly, back arching in a feline manner before she rose from the bed. This man had proved a more slippery mark than she had expected, but once she had found him it took little more than a political secret or two and a few soft whispers of what the night could bring to make it so. He stirred gently beside her as she finished lacing her corset. She felt his hand glide along her thigh in askance and the unspoken request to lie back down. Crawling above him now and kissing his bruised lips, her tail delicately traced the contours of his body. "Rest now my dear" she whispered. "I will tell no one what was said this night."

As she headed down the stairs from the upper level of the inn, she unclasped the handmade cloth rose she had clipped among curly blonde tresses. As she fondled the token, her hair immediately began giving way to pooling dark hair. She felt the cinch of the corset loosen considerably and found herself a touch taller as she came to the base of the stairs. She tucked the rose in her knapsack and bid the innkeep a fair night as confusion registered on his features.

Her night had only begun; she had information to ply the hearts of men. And intra-house conflict certainly didn't start itself.


	2. Fluff Prompt: On Dwarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:**  
>  Does your character have any biases for or against certain races?

The first time she smelled burning sulfur she thought it likely that she was going to hate gnomes, with their grease-stained fingers and pungent concoctions, but after a year in the city she had come to appreciate the urgency with which they fought the entropy of mortality. No, it was the dwarven sense of pride and stoicism that frustrated her most. 

How it was she found herself embroiled in betting on a dwarven drinking contest in a dwarven tavern with a chatty dwarf sitting much too close and filling her space with the nauseating smell of stale dwarven ale on his breath was less of a story than a series of unfortunate mistakes, but she was 50 gold pieces down in her gambling and wasn’t one who chose to cut losses.

The dwarf beside her swayed a bit as he ordered another ale for them both. He was far into his drink when she arrived and hadn’t shown any signs of slowing since. With a suggestive wink, he passed her one of the wooden pint mugs that slid down the bartop towards them. She sniffed the drink suspiciously, not bothering to hide her apprehension. The dwarf laughed and took a long draft from his own mug, the dark froth tinting his strawberry blond beard when he pulled back.

“Aye missy, if I wanted ye bedside, I’d have done you a better ale than that.”

She took a wary sip of the mug’s contents. It was a bold porter with a hearty bite, and strong notes of peat and mineral. She wrinkled her nose at the potent brew, but took a longer drink anyway.

The dwarf laughed again. “There you go, lassy.” He stuck out a half-gloved hand, the cracks and crags of wrinkles on his exposed fingers were filled with soot and his nail beds were almost black with grime, but she clasped it all the same. “Darmac,” he said by way of introducing himself, and waited expectantly on her.

She hung for a moment, several pseudonyms at the tip of her tongue, but she found no harm in a bit of candor right now. “Nisrah.”

“First day with that name, Nisrah? I ain’t seen you drink enough to forget it yet.” He winked once more, in a way that disclosed far too much perception, and he took another long draft. With a smile, he motioned the bartender for two more.

His shrewd forward angle was making her uncomfortable and her tail flicked with annoyance. She crossed her arms on top of the countertop, and turned her body to face the dwarf. “What is it that you want, Darmac?”

“Ouch, missy. Ye’re hurting me with your bluntness.” 

He leaned closer to her then, filling her nostrils with the smell of petrichor and ale. If you added a hearthfire to the mix it was exactly as she had spent her life imagining dwarves to smell. It suited him well. 

The timbre of his voice changed, and as close as she was, she still strained to hear him over the clamor of the bar. “I saw ye put a fair bit of gold in the pot. If I told you with my help you could sextuple your earnings before the end of the evening?”

She arched a brow in disapproval, and buried a sigh into her mug, helping herself to more ale. “I’d call you a swindler,” she said, turning her body back towards the bar with the intent of ending the conversation.

“Nay, nay. Watch this.” The stout dwarf leaned over the bar counter, waving an arm in a most undwarf-like manner. “Oy, oy. Samel, c’mere!”

The bartender looked at Darmac with an expression of recognition that Nisrah noted immediately changed to resignation as he approached. Choosing to ignore this altogether, Darmac greeted him by flashing his teeth in a drunk smile that might have been charming under different circumstances. “What’s the odds on Thokuli right now?” 

Samel took a scratched up piece of slate out from an apron pocket. Scrawled on it, in a hand that was unreadable to Nisrah, were about a dozen dwarven runes with various tallies next to them. The bartender ran a stubby finger down the list of what she now knew were names and stopped at one with three tally marks next to it. “Three to one right now. Been some time since any fewer than nine put him under the table.”

“This lass here wants to put five gold on the three tonight.”

Nisrah opened her mouth to protest, but the look Darmac shot her made her reconsider. “Yes, sure. Five.”

Samel shrugged and pulled out a piece of chalk from within another fold of the apron. This time he wrote in common, and though his script was still nigh decipherable, Nisrah could make out “TEEFLING 5GP” as the only wager in the margin right now. 

Once the bartender was clear, she spun to the dwarf beside her. “Do you intend to spend your days indebted to me, dwarf?” she hissed.

“Just wait,” he said, draining his second mug of ale since their conversation had begun.

She was starting to get impatient as she too finished her second mug of ale, when, as if on cue, she set the mug down and heard the clatter and thump of a chair toppling backwards behind her. She heard a second thump and uproarious laughter filled the bar. 

In the continued cacophony of laughter and jovial toasting, she glanced at Darmac. She kept her voice hushed, near hissing once more. “Did you buy him off?”

He spoke his response quickly. Far faster than she had ever heard any dwarves talk, she thought. “Nay nay, nothing suchlike. His eyes were aflutter; that’s his tell,” Darmac took the briefest of pauses to breathe before he continued, “I know ‘em all, I tell ye true. They won’t let me wager here no more, but the owner is a right shit and I’ll go 70:30 to ye with yer money if you follow my advice. Tell ‘im ye want five on Vosdrick next.” He finished speaking just as Samel approached them, and she understood why he spoke so quickly. The look the bartender gave the dwarf was dubious and spoke of unsettled grudges.

When Samel spoke to her, it was through a fair bit of gritting of his teeth. “Congratulations miss. Any other wagers you wish to make? Ye have a pool of fifteen now.” He shot Darmac a rancorous look as if daring him to speak; Darmac just shrugged. 

“Oh um, yes.” She looked thoughtfully around the room, trying to sell naivety. “Five on Vosdrick, please.” 

“Ye sure, miss? He’s got a five to one right now.” 

She bit her lip and avoided looking at the dwarf beside her. He was busy tapping an inpatient tune on his upturned mug. “Yes. I think so.”

He made note of the bet once more, then glared once more at Darmac who’s ruddy cheeks were almost cherubic as he smiled. “I’ll bring ye both another.”

\---

Some hours later, she had more than made back her losses and was barely sitting upright herself. Her cheeks hurt from laughter and conversation. With some difficulty, she counted out Darmac’s earnings and added the rest to her coin purse. As she poured herself off the barstool, he grabbed her arm.

“Stay for one more drink, lassy? I want to get you that mug of better ale.”

“Oh, what the hell,” she said as she sat back down. She supposed not all dwarves were that bad.


End file.
